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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790794">lay it all down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messier_47/pseuds/Messier_47'>Messier_47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CityBoy!Grimmjow, Country!Ichigo, Cowboy!Ichigo, Eventual Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, not surprising, so you discovered some significant downsides to late stage capatalism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:02:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messier_47/pseuds/Messier_47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grimmjow wakes up to discover not only a new world and a mysterious, smokin' hot country boy with a preference for riding large animals, but also may take a look at himself to consider some deep existential questions.</p><p>Also, seriously, the dirty sweaty cowboy shouldn't look that good. Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First and foremost, I want to thank Shapooda for always believing in me. I've told her about this months/years ago and has always softly encouraged me to create this, even when i wasn't feeling inspired.</p><p>I also want to thank Owari for inspiring me to push ahead and actually start writing. They've done some very lovely art that grabbed me by my dick and threatened blue balls if I didn't at least begin.</p><p>I'll try to keep updates on a schedule. I warn that I'm out of practice updating a multi-chapter fic and may forget.</p><p>Also, because I love my state, this is less 'Ichigo is a Mid-Western/Southwest/Southern cowboy and much more 'I love California orchard farms up in the Sierras and I'm gonna make you all fall in love too.'</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun had long since set, the sky holding onto it’s last wisps of blue as pin pricks of starlight twinkled to life. The violet twilight casted across the hills were slowly descending into darkness, replacing the crisp air with a discernible chill.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Grimmjow laid flat on his stomach, arms raised around his head in a failed attempt to stop his fall. His ankle throbbed in pain, but it was a distant feeling as his consciousness liquidated, turning the bed of leaves and nettles, the faint sounds of crickets calling in the night, the smell of rich dirt and clay coiling in his nose into nothing more than a lucid dream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Feet pitter-pattered through the woods, a cold nose snuffling around the fallen man, if Grimmjow registered the dog’s presence the thought was gone by his next exhale. His ears heard nothing but static, maybe the faint echoes of a dog barking, maybe the sound of two extra feet traversing through the carpet of dead leaves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As his consciousness faded further, a bright light seared onto the top of his eyelids, pain bursting behind his temples. The flashlight darts away a second later, someone crouching down at his side, warmth blooms across his shoulders as unfamiliar hands touch him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He won’t realize when he’s flipped onto his side. His eyes will squint past a watery veil to briefly glimpse the shadow of a man but nothing else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s too far into the grasp of darkness to know he’s safe now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s safe.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His bones felt heavy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his mouth tasted like wet socks. With a fungal infection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow woke up slowly, mind and senses a muffled remix of </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Where the hell am I?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh god I feel like shit.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn’t drink anything last night, but he didn’t remember booking a motel. In fact, he distinctly remembers that he didn’t book a motel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was the road. And then there were wolves.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How did he end up in a bed? He didn’t remember much after the running. Grimmjow finally opened his eyes, blinking blurrily at unfamiliar surroundings, rolling onto his back when he realized just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> his arm was, sleeping on it all night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking around, he came to several conclusions: one, he probably wasn’t kidnapped by a serial killer, unless that serial killer was a granny with a disposition to smother her victims in quilts and two, whoever put him to bed clearly didn’t do it for nefarious purposes. He wasn’t locked in a dark basement. The room he was in wasn’t a makeshift prison, there was a dresser, a bookshelf stuffed with books and binders, a loveseat wooden bench with a pile of fresh laundry and the window wasn’t barred, but open, a soft breeze rustling the curtains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was lived in. And comfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling himself up, Grimmjow hissed in pain, his ankle being pulled by the blankets on top of him. Checking underneath, he saw that he slept in the clothes he came in, his boots and socks being he only missing items on his person. His ankle, still aching from being twisted, was wrapped in stiff bandages and rested on a bed of a chilled icebag, condensation dampening the bedsheet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bit of his unease from waking up in a house unknown to him relaxed from taking in all these facts. At his side, leaning against the dresser, were crutches left obviously for him. Swinging his legs off the bed, he grabbed the stupid crutches and tried to stand on his good foot first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” he cursed, listing to one side, sitting his ass down quick as his equilibrium decided to ride the Zipper without buckling in. His second attempt at standing was much better. Grimmjow took only one crutch to replace his lame limb, piecing together a hobble as he maneuvered with the unfamiliar tool, damn near tumbling out of the guest room he was left in to go through the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whoever brought him here wasn’t in the house. It was so early in the goddamn morning that Grimmjow didn’t have a clue where his wayward host could be. He decided to staying in the house waiting like a sorry sucker for an axe murderer to come and kill him wasn’t on his bucket list, so he hobbled to the front door and upon leaving the house, Grimmjow was struck speechless by the view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Great sweeping hills of pine forests as far as the eye can see. The late morning sunlight crystalised the very air he breathed, turning every hint of color into a glorious kaleidoscope of nature: the reds, yellows, greens, and brown from the mid-fall season ripening in evidence. He could see on the hill adjacent a vineyard by it’s rows, the grape vines no bigger than a grain of wheat to his eye. The sky was a bright cyan that Grimmjow was convinced he had never seen before, the sparsely dotted clouds touching the tips of the trees no doubt to be burnt out by the evening sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking around him, The house he found himself in was shrouded by oak and pine trees, the ground dusty and bare of any grass except for the carpet of nettles and dead leaves. There was a path leading directly to the house that split from left to right, the left he could see leads directly to a road with a lone mailbox stood crooked, and to the right he could see the beginning of what he thinks is an orchard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he didn’t see was the dog at the bottom of the porch. Just when he finally took his first few steps out of the front door way, the dog stood up and bounded off, making a bee line to somewhere and barking its head off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Grimmjow reflexively said, guessing that the little sheep dog was running to get its master. He stepped down the stairs and started walking towards the orchard where the dog had left, his body achingly reminding him that he shouldn’t move too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> an orchard, he didn’t know how big it extended, but just when he could see the hanging apples from the trees did he hear a horse's whinny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stopping in his tracks, he waited until he could hear the direction of the hoof beats before turning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breaking out of the tree line first came the dogs. A pack of dogs, one the sheep dog who Grimmjow had seen first but the others were a surprise; upon discovering him they all began to bark and circle the stranger, looking backwards towards the horse and their master. He catalogued the horse first, a big animal with an even bigger head but he was a city boy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>farm animals are always bigger than what you imagine them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The horse was white, with a soft dappling of grey and black nostrils. Before the horse could slow, the rider slung himself off the horse’s bareback taking a running stop before him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yer awake!” The rider was tall, no taller than him but Grimmjow himself was a big bastard and this man could meet him at eye level. He had bright ginger hair that either had to be dyed, or some of the richest colored hair he had ever seen. Dark tanned skin, a smattering of sun kissed freckles across his nose and bare shoulders, he was dressed in a white tanktop and old, white washed overalls that were cuffed up to his shin. On his head was the most stereotypical cowboy hat he had ever seen but by the wear and dirt on it, he could see that the hat had far more use than looking good. “Good to see ya up and about. Sorry fer not bein’ there when ya woke. Did ya eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The accent on his tongue wasn’t thick, but it was enough to make the air taste like honey. The other man’s warm brown eyes were glittering with life and Grimmjow had to catch himself from staring like an idiot and actually answer him, “No. Just woke up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he sounded horrific compared to this wild Adonis that grinned crookedly at him, gesturing with a hand back at the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout we get ya fed, watered, and feelin’ betta before we talk? I got some thin’s to do aroun’ the farmhouse anyways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Grimmjow asked first, allowing the gorgeous stranger to take the lead before hobbling after. The stranger matched his speed at a casual stroll and he bit back the slash of irritation at so obvious pity. “And where am I? How long have I been out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not long,” the other man said, entering his own house first, making his way into the kitchen. The dogs followed after their master, having gauged Grimmjow to be no threat but still sniffing around him curiously. “Found ya last night, thank god fer that, y’da got a chill how cold it was last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other plated a slice of homemade bread with butter and honey and a side of fresh apples, blackberries, and persommines. He handed Grimmjow the plate before retreating to the kitchen again, this time both heating up a pan and plating the same for himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He said, “My name’s Ichigo, and yer at Kurosaki Farm. Your name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grimmjow,” he gruffly got out, his voice a little hoarse from his dry throat and disgusting taste of morning breath still lingering between his teeth. The other man, Ichigo, was quick to pour out a cup of apple juice and pass it to him. As he guzzled down the drink, finally realizing that his stomach had been trying to eat itself in its hunger and picking up the bread, Ichigo buttered up the pan and was already cracking eggs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d you like yer eggs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow answered, but his mind was elsewhere as he watched Ichigo work in his own kitchen. The dogs were sitting on the back porch, the kitchen door open and leading directly out where he could see the edge of what he thinks is a chicken coop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man was young. His age, maybe a year or two younger, and yet he lived out here in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere by himself. Did he own the house? The orchard? Did he live out here his whole life or was it a found lifestyle? Watching him cook was almost dream-like but also frighteningly real. Ichigo looked more </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive,</span>
  </em>
  <span> more real than anyone else Grimmjow has ever known.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finished making up his plate, sitting himself down at the dining table and Grimmjow couldn’t look away. It was hard to explain but...Ichigo looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>than comfortable in his skin. He looked bigger than the world could contain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was Kiego that found ya.” At the sound of his name, the sheep dog perked his head up. “So you might wanna feed him some eggs ‘r bacon afterwards in thanks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow took another glance at the dog as it put its head back down onto his paws. “And the others?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo smiled warmly before introducing, “Sado,” the big Great Dane mixed with something tweaked it’s ears and barely opened its eyes before relaxing, “Kon,” a golden retriever perked its head up, tongue rolling out and tag wagging at the sound of its name with a dumb happy face on, “and Kenpachi,” the last dog was some old Wolf-dog monster with a mottled grey and black coat and wicked scars.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re not going to eat me right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A laugh startled out of Ichigo before he said, “Nah, yer too chewy, not enough fat for ‘em.” Which did not endear Grimmjow to the pack of dogs that collectively weighed more than him with mouths full of sharp teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the nearest city?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo was just finishing up his plate of food before answering, “Seireitei is a good four hours away, but the town Karakura is only a twenty minute drive. If you need cell service, or the internet, you’ll need to get into town first. Do you have someone you want to-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Grimmjow said, uselessly staring down his empty plate, “I have no one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man was quiet, not pushing for answers. He stood up, picking up Grimmjow’s and his own dirty dishes before going to the sink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya twisted that ankle bad,” he said above the running faucet, “I bandaged and iced it best I could last night but ya gonna hafta lay off it for a few days. Need me to get a docta?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, looking underneath the table to take in his wrapped foot. It hurt like a bitch but, “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think, it’ll be fine in a week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo returned, drying his hands off on a spare towel, “You can stay ‘ere in the spare as long as ya need. There’s a motel in town if you’d rather be there instead.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow now eyed the other man, reading contentment by the line of his broad shoulders, the easy confidence of his stance, and he didn’t see a single negative variable at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice still a little hoarse but definitely better, “Why are you helping me, a stranger? You don’t know me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chickens clucked in the background. The kitchen light had a faint static sound from old wiring. The air still smells like breakfast but now more so of rich earth and leafy greenery. Ichigo stood there, his face in full display of his thoughts and by the pinched furrow of his brow, he understood how everything looked like.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t know you,” he admitted, “But that shouldn’t stop me from showing a little decency.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made a gesture to the hallway and made to go to the spare bedroom. Grimmjow stood on his one good leg and managed to hobble around with the crutches left behind. In the spare, Ichigo was picking up and putting down a pile on the bed and he said upon noticing Grimmjow standing in the doorway, “There’s an extra toothbrush at the sink. Here’s a clean towel and some clothes that should fit, nevermind the style. Your dirty clothes can get into the wash afterwards. I still have work to do around the orchard, so Imma hafta leave you to it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo brushes past him and Grimmjow’s struck by their comparative difference that it leaves him standing there like a goddamn idiot for a minute after the other was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The other man wasn’t that much younger than him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wasn’t that much different in terms of physique. And despite the country twang in his tongue, mud on his shoes, and stupidly charming cowboy hat, Grimmjow could see the other as someone he could see passing by in the city. Community college maybe. A shitty gas station at the coffee machines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the unsaid difference triggered the desire to scratch his skin off, pull at the roots of his hair. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, sweaty palms, and the little quick breaths begin to start and instead of tearing himself to pieces, Grimmjow grabbed the fresh towel and pile of clothes from off the bed and made a hobbling beeline towards the bathroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fucking hated waking up in the morning.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You want to feed ‘em?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question broke Grimmjow out of his reverie, eyes quickly focusing back onto the backyard scene of Ichigo with a five gallon bucket of chicken feed in one hand and a chipped mug in the other. Three chickens clucked around his feet and the fourth sat roosted on a nesting perch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like I’d want to feed your chickens?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man shrugged, “You look like you’d rather do anythin’ but stand there and be useless. Com’ere and do this and you can go back ta lookin’ cool and aloof.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s that southern kindness I hear so much about?” Grimmjow said and steps down carefully off the back porch to take the chipped mug, “Your mom know you’re forcing a cripple to do farmwork?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs easily before handing off the five gallon bucket of feed. “Two scoops. And I’d tell her if I didn’t think you’d beat the shit out of me for callin’ ya a cripple.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow didn’t remark to that, cause the bastard was right, scooping out a quick two cupfuls of feed and scattering it to the ground. The smaller red chicken flutters in startled outrage before furiously pecking at the food as if the ground itself insulted it. The rather tiny black hen pecks shyly before skittering off as if frightened from Grimmjow’s attention. The larger black and white speckled hen clucked the loudest, flapping its wings and the red hen settled faster before it also started eating its food. The last chicken, a fat and fluffy golden thing ruffled like an Elizabethian royal, sat prim and unmoved from its perched nest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo was the one who went up, scooped up the bird to carry it around like a football under his arm, and with the other hand he reached into the feed bucket to grab a small handful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kisuke,” he explained, “Doesn’t eat but anywhere but my hand, spoiled bastard.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonder who spoiled him,” he said without bite, putting down the bucket of feed to sit down on the porch step. Ichigo followed Grimmjow’s example, the soft smile on his face as he watched his chicken eat out of the palm of his hand endearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nearby farm gave ‘im to me. My first chick, and this one was sicker than shit. Called just ‘bout everyone an’ they said it’d die soon, leave it but nah I didn’t. Now it’s king of the coop, thinks he doesn’t have to lift a single finger to help itself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow… doesn’t know what to do. How to act -react- to this relative stranger just...talking. Casually talking about free kindness as if it wasn’t a commodity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stayed silent. And watched. As Ichigo dutifully fed his pet chicken before putting it back onto its perch, softly whistling for his dogs to follow as he stood before Grimmjow again in the blinding sunlight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, I got somethin’ to show ya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw the other smiling, his dogs circling around like a solar system, the call of native birds Grimmjow didn’t even know the names of, and he stood to follow.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I went looking for her early this morning. Knew she couldn’t be far.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo reached down to grasp the garage door handle and with a hard yank, his own strength and weight of the door swung it open. Grimmjow gasped like he was suckerpunched in the chest, his hands reaching forward and weight shifting before he was painfully reminded that his ankle was fucked, and that he needed the crutch under his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck, you found her,” he said, pure relief in his tone as he took those extra steps further to get his hands back on his baby, his Pantera.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A 1944 Indian 841, all of it’s parts replaced with a custom finish of a dark cyan blue. The metal gleamed, and the moment he laid hands on her, Grimmjow could almost feel her engine purring against his palms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a scratch?” he asked, though his eyes were already roving the beast, checking for anything Ichigo may have missed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None. She’s a gorgeous bike.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure is,” Grimmjow said absently, his eyes tracking over the exposed parts of the engine, it wouldn’t do if a stray bit of gravel were to ping the wrong place under his watch, “Got her at an auction. Stupid fuck presented her fuckin’ rusted and cracked, demanded fifteen thousand as the starting bid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What you get her for?” Ichigo asked, leaning back onto a workbench as he watched Grimmjow run his hands over his bike.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I traded him a working Harley and three grand for this baby. Never looked back since.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow sharply looked back up from his fondling and Ichigo must have known exactly what he was thinking because not a moment later, a ring of keys sailed through the air to be caught by his ready hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quickly, he mounted the bike, inserting and twisting the key, being careful of his sprained foot as he started up his Pantera, hearing her rumble to life and vibrate under him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You drive her here?” he asked before turning the motorcycle back off, deeming her perfectly fine after last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hope you don’t mind,” Ichigo said, raising his hands, “I didn’t molest your bike or anythin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow barked out a short laugh, swinging his leg around and grabbing his crutch to properly stand again. “Just keep your hands off and we’ll be just fine for now. You ride?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dirt bikes on the occasion,” Ichigo shrugged, “I ride Zangetsu more than anything really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t believe it,” he said, a smile he didn’t even know that was there stretched across his face, “Unbelievable rodeo clown riding my Pantera. Dirt bike license, let’s keep you well away from my baby from now on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow looked back at the other man and witnessed an expression that he wasn’t comfortable addressing. Clearing his throat he asked, “Zangetsu?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo’s smile only turned warmer as he leaned off the work table and made his way out the garage. “My ride. Come on, I’ll introduce ya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked out of the garage quickly, taking one last lingering look at his only pride and joy. The garage door fell shut and he turned to the other whose expression was clearly amused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can make out with her later. Gotta show you around more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can shut the fuck up,” Grimmjow said, retort weak as he followed the other man with relief easing the ache in his limbs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Zangetsu, it turned out, was the white and grey dappled horse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow didn’t know the terminology or the proper way to describe a horse beyond he was a big, mean, bitch of an animal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo’s feet had only hit the gravel separating the farmhouse with the orchard before they had heard the rapid hoof beats comin from aways off, the horse sprinting to meet its master before he could set foot among the grove of trees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t hold out your hand,” Ichigo warned as the beast snuffled his hair and chest, “He’s gonna check you out, but don’t introduce yourself just yet. He might rear up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not gonna bite me is he?” He had heard that was a thing, horses taking a good bite out of a person’s flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t hold out your hand he won’t,” he said, finally taking the horses reins, “And don’t move too suddenly. He might flip and try to kick ya.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, my Pantera is more behaved than your beast,” Grimmjow said before the horse, Zangetsu, finally turned its attention to the new stranger in its midst.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horse didn’t move to investigate him, keeping to Ichigo’s side, its nostril’s flaring just a little to catch his scent. Unsurprisingly, the horse was bigger than both Ichigo and himself. Surprisingly, Zangetsu had to be bigger than a thoroughbred horse he could compare it to. Was he a horse expert? No. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t judge that by the mass of his chest, thickness of his legs, and the height of the actual seat of him that the horse was far larger than a dainty thoroughbred. Though probably not a massive warhorse or whatever else those monstrously Trojan Horse looking beasts he’d seen on TV, Zangetsu was still pretty big and with his bright yellow demon eyes looking at him, Grimmjow kinda wanted to back off before the horse thought it’d be fun to stomp the shit out of him and his broken foot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’d you get him?” Grimmjow asked, “Does he turn under the full moon? Terrorize the town and suck virgin blood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo laughed, patting his horse on his neck, softly scratching at the mane part he could reach and said, “Zangetsu’s been with me for a while. Gift from my Ma and Ol’ Man. You’re not far off in guessing he’s a terror.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, no story of saving his life?” he couldn’t help but sneer, the emotion behind it empty of substance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In this case, he saved mine,” the other said without missing a beat, taking the horse by the reins and leading it on his opposite side to stand with him. “Le me take ya to the barn. Got a few things to do there before we can make a run into town.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Side-by-side they walked; four feet, two feet, three feet, down the gravel path.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“That’s Nel,” Ichigo said, pointing out a goat on the far side of the enclosement, munching on dandelions. “And Ginjo’s the cow.” The cow was even further away, laying down in the shade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why a guy’s name for a heifer?” Grimmjow asked, not really curious but asking anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Inside joke,” he said with a hidden smirk. “But besides the fresh eggs, milk, and cheese, that’s all the farm animals I got. Mostly an orchard farmer with a side garden.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention the pack of wolves or wild mustang,” Grimmjow chimed in before freezing in his tracks and shouting, “What the fuck is that?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichgio also stopped in his tracks, turning to see what Grimmjow could have seen, before turning to him, “A peacock.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know that but why is there a peacock?!” As if the animal knew it was being talked about, the bird gave a warbled cry before ruffling its wings. The peacock sat on top of a storage box, it’s tail hanging off the side in shining blues, greens, and purples. He had only seen the animal in zoos or photographs. Seeing it here on the small farm was jarring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not that interesting,” Ichigo said, passively dismissing Grimmjow’s shock, “Yamichika’s a diva and a brat. Come on, Gotta show ya somethin’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He followed Ichigo as he made his way into the small red painted barn. In one corner of the building were two stables, both bedded in fresh hay and their gates wide open. Most of the barn was dedicated to a huge machine that he would guess would be a distillery, and two other machines that he didn’t even want to try guessing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harvest isn’t ready yet,” Ichigo answered his unasked question, “Not here for that, come look.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Past the stables and the machines was a backdoor that opened up to the edge of the forest. There was a clear divide between wild forest and farmland by a dirt and red clay road, but Grimmjow was struck by the odd polarity between the wild and the tamed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo paused, scanning the treeline for a bit before letting out a low whistle then a quick chitter behind his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not summoning a cougar or a bear, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Funny you should mention cougar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Grimmjow’s stomach could drop, thinking that this wild fae had actually tamed a cougar that was going to eat him, there was a tiny rustle within the bushes and a cat jumped out of the underbrush.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The roughest looking tuxedo cat he had ever seen, dirt caking its fur, its bright green eyes peering out beneath the filth. The cat looked at them both before making a beeline to Ichigo’s feet where the other man knelt to give a few scratches to the cat’s under chin and ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gonna catch fleas,” Grimmjow said, “If you haven’t already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo took the remark with good humor, chuckling under his breath, “I call him Ulquiorra. Completely feral, he chooses when he wants to visit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And why are you introducing him to me?”asked Grimmjow, deciding not to attempt to make contact with the cat. It would be more work than would be worth it if the tux was truly as feral as Ichigo was claiming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t look too comfortable with my dogs and you named your bike Pantera,” at this Ichigo tossed him a shiteating grin, “Thought you’d need a friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You piece of shit,” Grimmjow said, cause it’s not like he’s ever heard that before, “God, it’s as if you actually think you’re funny.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m hilarious.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: this chapter contains the mentioning of suicidal ideation. It's not that much, but its there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ichigo didn’t have a fucked up foot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So off he went to actually do some work, Grimmjow left behind at the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was so uncomfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how welcoming, or well lived in the house was, he was still a stranger, and doing anything but sitting on the couch made him nervous for the same reasons why people believe hackers were always looking through their camera phones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he was comfy. The love seat he decided to lounge upon, pulling over a dining chair with an ice cold ziplock bag of frozen peas to rest his foot, gave him a perfect view of the front yard. Besides the gorgeous scenery, the positively glacial pace the sun seemed to crawl across the sky, and the faint clucking of Ichigo’s spoiled chickens, there was nothing outside of interest to look at.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man had long since gone riding on his pale horse, and it was a bit of a relief to catch a break from being around the gorgeous cowboy who must have stepped out a fuckin’ wetdream of Grimmjow’s from his gay twinkish past. But it was boring without such eyecandy being so obliviously hot around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The inside of the house was no better than outside. Nothing stood to be brand new, every piece of furniture coming from thrift store quality shops, or even with the tale-tell bit of history that came with the house. An old bookshelf made from the same wood as the kitchen counters. A side drawer with chipped white paint but what looked like a child took their artistic talent and tried to fill the empty spaces with colorful crayon. The dining table looked to be the pride and joy of the place, big and long as if to seat a large family, well loved and polished even if there was no big family to appreciate it. A gun vault tucked off to the side covered by a poorly knitted doily, lamp, and photograph of two teenage girls smiling at the camera.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was all so different from what Grimmjow was used to. Living on the ground floor and in a small house? A dream he never dared to reach for. Do you know how much a house in the city suburb costs? Grimmjow had lived his entire life living in apartment after apartment, one memorable time living in his best friend’s grandmother’s house bundled up near the fireplace because it was winter and her heater didn’t work right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Here Ichigo had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest bedroom </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second bathroom. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Multiple blankets. Chairs and seats tucked everywhere. Rugs. It was the smallest, simplest details that almost convinced him that he landed in the lap of luxury.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t stupid. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The American Dream”</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he found himself in and something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>envy</span>
  </em>
  <span> curdled in his gut, witnessing this white-pickett-fence life be laid out before him. How old was he when he stopped believing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It didn’t matter when. It just did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands were shaking again and his teeth ground themselves together to bite back the scream in his throat. He wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>so badly </span>
  </em>
  <span>to take off and run, get on his bike and race to the edge of the world, probably throw himself off the ledge to find out for himself if there really was something to actually hope for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow didn’t want Ichigo’s life. But it wouldn’t hurt if he was able to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind </span>
  </em>
  <span>and</span>
  <em>
    <span> decent </span>
  </em>
  <span>without having to first think about the</span>
  <em>
    <span> terms and conditions, interest, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and</span>
  <em>
    <span> taxes</span>
  </em>
  <span> on such novelties. When did humanity put a price on selflessness? The thought made him sick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He...hadn’t been kind a long time. When’s the last time he did something for someone? Was there anyone in his life he even wanted to do something for? Everyone had left. He was either the last or just simply alone. Shawlong was gone, Edrad had gone back to places he had once tried to run from, he didn’t even want to know where Yylfordt went, Di Roy was higher than a fuckin kite nowadays and all too happy to stay up there, and Nakeem found something better than the metaphorical cemetery Grimmjow had begun to haunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he saw what Nelliel was turning into, how Stark just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>stopped</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the places Gin was going and what he was doing, Grimmjow couldn’t take it anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had to save his own life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the only kindness he could afford and it made him sick he couldn’t take anybody else. Could he have? What if he had made the offer? What would they have said? What would they have done? Would he still be here, alone but free, sheltered by a man who gave first without taking?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow ducked his head and tried to swallow the guilt and disparity. He didn’t know any of the answers, nor would he ever know. He made his choices. That didn’t mean he didn’t hate himself for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left it all behind and he was still so selfish. So disgustingly selfish and he was still taking. Taking of Ichigo’s kindness and gentle charity because besides the clothes on his back and the bike in the garage, it was all he had. And he was still so greedy for more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow felt a keen rise up from within him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hoped the dogs didn’t hear.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“TV will get ya cable but not much else,” Ichigo said, hands fluttering over the two pots he was working over, back turned to Grimmjow who sat at the counter watching him cook, “If you’ve been bingeing something its gonna hafta be put on hold. Only place in town with serviceable wifi is the bar and barely that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Those the only books you own?” Grimmjow asked, not bothering to gesture towards the bookshelf if the other wouldn’t even bother to turn around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s some in the spare,” he said before taking the pot of pasta noodles off the stove to drain, “Some 'n my room. Might need a trip to the library ta not bore ya ta tears 'ere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your town’s got a library?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bar, inn, candy shop, library, 'ardware, grocer, auto, 'n diner. All ya ever need fer a town.” He opened a mason jar full of tomato sauce, pouring in a good amount over the grilled chicken bits to mix with the pasta.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Candy shop?” Grimmjow wondered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow we’ll go. I hafta get a few extra bits and restock my pantry. Don’t hafta go if you don’ wanna-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go,” he said, “I’m already bored to tears here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That inspired a laugh, Ichigo took out two plates to fill with parmesan chicken pasta, a separate bowl for freshly tossed salad slathered in salt and olive oil. The other man wasn’t a fantastic cook, but the food was delicious and Grimmjow wasn’t an ungrateful bitch who didn’t leave his plate clean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Might hafta warn you now,” Ichigo said, getting up to spoon out another serving of salad once that was depleted, “Closest fast food place gotta be ‘n hour-’n-a-half from ‘ere. And ’m not too keen on eatin’ grease.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no,” Grimmjow said in the most droll tone, waving his fork around, “You trying to starve me to death?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tempting,” he threw back, “Not too hard to kill ya and get away with it. Anybody know yer out ‘ere?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was he fishing? Was this where he started asking questions? Is this where the country-hospitality ends and the hostility begins? </span>
  <span>Maybe Grimmjow was thinking too much into it. Maybe he was making monsters out of shadows. Plato’s cave allegory except he’s seen too many monsters to disbelieve shadows as sinister. Is this where the fangs and claws come out? Is this where the dream ends?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like you could kill me,” he sneered as the other sat back down with his second plate, “You’d probably run crying into town if I get a paper cut.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You've worse,” Ichigo said referencing his foot, “And if anybody's cryin', it’d be you cause ya can’t stand to not use yer phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talk shit but bet you think our President is still Lincoln or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I stay up to date on current events,” Ichigo said, “I just don’t info dump. So, last ya heard what was happenin' in the city? Shunsui still runnin’ for mayor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s Seireitei,” Grimmjow said before snapping his mouth shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo picked it up instantly. “Oh, I didn’t ask, you from there or no? Seireitei’s closer and Hueco’s a ways away but you coulda come from anywhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How...</span>
  <em>
    <span>quaint.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grimmjow honestly couldn’t tell if he was deliberately being so obtuse or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The road’s a two way lane,” he said, savagely biting into his chicken, “Not many places to come from.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So Hueco Mundo,” Ichigo came to the conclusion so casually and Grimmjow wanted to punch the motherfucker. “Don get much news ther’. Anythin’ intrestin’ happen recently?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Las Noches’ market value has quadrupled, earning itself the title of most innovative company in water resourcing to date.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Factories in China and Thailand are prosperous enough to open new factories in America despite loss of finances paying federal, state, and hidden taxes and American employee’s working wage. The decision that the loss greatly outweighs the gain of american consumerism made agreements for construction concrete.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The technology to turn regular air into drinkable water is revolutionary. Further advancement in both the science and engineering was slowed to a crawl, investments pouring in from “philanthropist” billionaires wanting a solid gold plaque to their name, to local citizens that wanted to save the future of the desert of Hueco Mundo.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Company contracts are renewed quad-annually and no employee below the station of Site Manager is to stay at the same division. The cycle of employment is to encourage employees to be flexible jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none and discourage advancement in the scheme of company hierarchy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hueco Mundo’s desert was made by a huge white quartz deposit that has deteriorated into the largest white desert in the world. In the seventies a military outpost cropped up to both develop and store new technology for the upcoming war. Rain has not fallen in over two hundred years.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There are ten listed ‘Sword’ divisions with multiple sub-divisions employing more than five thousand workers on site. The CEOs of each division were called the Espada. The President was-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing much,” Grimmjow said, stuffing his mouth with chicken, “It’s hot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t see how Ichigo was looking at him. How</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>those warm brown eyes <em>burned.</em></span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They need to go into town.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or Ichigo needed to go into town, Grimmjow was desperate to get as far away from the goddamn smell of chicken shit and barking dogs. So into the old battered pickup truck they went, windows rolled down, the radio turned on and muffled with the rushing wind and it wasn’t like he was paying any attention to the lyric when his hands were gripping tight to anything he could grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The road curved left and right following the angle of the hills, he wasn’t prone to carsickness but fucking hells did the road to Karakura town </span>
  <em>
    <span>tested</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pass vineyards and orchards, little outposts with fifteen mailboxes all stacked up in messy rows, disused roads that lead to tucked away houses and only one car past them by in the twenty minute drive. Whoever was in the car waved and Ichigo waved back like the deep country fairytail cowboy who drawled with a loose tongue he was and- </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay so maybe Grimmjow was thinking too much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Karakura town snuck up on ‘em, houses and road signs popping up like the forest and civilization shook hands and said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’ll stop and you start here.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Real tucked in, kinda around the bend, hidden aways that was a little bit too unreal to believe the town to be anything more than a village.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was Ichigo really sure they even have wifi? Do they even have cable out here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“North I-80 will take you to Hueco Mundo,” Ichigo said, taking a right on the only intersection the town had, “South will take you back to Seireitei. East will take ya the long way ‘round to Rukongai and West is No-Man’s Land.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No-Man’s Land?” Grimmjow repeated as the ginger parked the truck in front of a local grocery store. The front windows sported old painted signs of salt-water taffy and lollipops but there was also a bin of squash and baby pumpkins on display.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The quarry is out there and the mining strip,” Ichigo said. They both got out of the truck, the slamming of their doors the loudest thing in town where everyone else was missing. No wonder, all the other town’s people probably have more to do than to wander around town like a freeloader. “The mine’s been abandoned, but gold diggers go lookin’ in the quarry sometimes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lookin’ for gold?” Grimmjow asked as they entered the store, not totally interested, but still asking for his mild curiosity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lookin’ fer treasure!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The unfamiliar shout startled him, the store owner stood smiling behind the store counter in a way that couldn’t be comfortable for his face. He wore a white and green striped bucket hat smashed over his head and a cleanish green bathrobe. “There’s gold in that them hills!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Urahara shut it!” Ichigo shouts, ignoring the exuberant store owner and beelining around the store, picking up the odds and ends he needed from a mental shopping list and leaving Grimmjow at the door. The store seemed small outside but on the inside it stretched further back, offering shelf after shelf of packaged food. As promised by the windows, there are old barrels full of candy by the cash register, but most of the treats were of discontinued lines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well you’re new,” mused the store owner, flicking out a shitty paper fan that looked to be made out of popsicle sticks and elmer’s glue, “Need directions? A place to stay for the night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s with me,” Ichigo said before disappearing down an aisle, leaving Grimmjow to fend for himself against the rabid store owner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in good hands then,” Urahara said, leaning forward to rest his elbows against the counter and gesturing to the crutch and wrapped ankle, “Did our good Hanatarou take a look at that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Grimmjow said, wary of some stranger’s attention, “Kurosaki wrapped it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did he now?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was just imagining it, but there was a strange tone to his voice then. He got the feeling he was being assessed more than just any regular tourist. “You comfortable up there? Mighty lonely, especially if you from the big city.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grimmjow did not want to think of the big city. He did not want to think about loneliness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s aight,” he said, catching slang he just picked up on his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Urahara’s smile turned slow and musing. Like a cat contemplating whether catching the canary or stealing the cream had more gain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ichigo almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> comes down here,” he said, “He’s shy. So don’t be a stranger and come on down for a chat when you get the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you say about me,” Ichigo asked suspiciously, his arms full of items he couldn’t get or make at the farm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely nothing!” the store owner said in a voice that practically sang with how untruthful he was being. As he rang up Ichigo of his items he said, “You must come down more often. Ururu and Jinta are at school right now and I just know they miss ya! And Harvest Fest is comin’ around, you won’t wanna miss that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ichigo gave only a placating smile and said, “I’ll think about it,” before turning to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! And I’m Urahara Kiseki,” the store owner said, turning his attention back to him, “What’s yer name, stranger?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grimmjow,” he said when he had no better reply, turning away and following Ichigo with a quick, “See ya later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sooner than you think!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a weirdo.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Give Kudos. Drop a Comment. Subscribe if you wanna.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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